This is Aba
The
dreamed Japan of Africa
A
dream turning nightmare
In
the grabs of choking claws
Claws
of politricks
They
have throats of iron
This
is Aba.
A
city surviving on small generators;
The
two stroke engines
That
belch and fart out blackened smokes
And
choke even the empty air
But
nobody coughs
Cough
and get quarantined
The
engines raving cacophony
can deafens elephants’ ears
Yet
they see and live on
As
if with protective veils
‘cos
signs will do
As
long as darkness can’t swallow them
This
is Aba
A
city drowning in putrid murky water logs
That
harbor giant tad poles
That
seize the wheels of hefty trucks
Yet
they fold their trousers
And
waddle on like through red sea
Not
minding the suffocating stench
Of
the odoriferous toad ponds
That
sleep in the day and growl when generators sleep
Where
tranquility is a crime
And
fresh air is divorced
But
they breathe on with invisible oxygen masks
This
is Aba
A
city under siege
By
roads with corrugated potted jaws
So
cars desert the roads
And
heads stick out from keke napepe
No
social stratifications
And no seeking of escape
They
crawl on the slow train of self sufficiency
With
everything home made
Made
in Aba
This
is Aba
Where
nights frown like stones
With
faces of ojuju calabar
That
cause convulsion on women and children
Most
males turn dogs at night
Dogs
eating dogs
Where
women pray against night fall
Against
the boots that shatter doors at night
Yet
they sleep on and snore in crescendo
Like
newborns
Oda
eshi!
This is Aba
where morning greets with rising smokes
smokes from flames of burning corpses
corpses of night marauders
corpses of daytime light fingers
corpses of hands that held daggers before
hands that slapped and snatched wallets
even legs that wore jagged boots
but they move unperturbed
no one sees the rising flames
not even the hands that rolled the tyres
the tyres that fueled the flame
not even the fingers that lit the match
all in the blackened smoke
that choked the birds too
Evenvulture fear and desert the air
they now eat leaves like herbivores
This is Aba
where morning greets with rising smokes
smokes from flames of burning corpses
corpses of night marauders
corpses of daytime light fingers
corpses of hands that held daggers before
hands that slapped and snatched wallets
even legs that wore jagged boots
but they move unperturbed
no one sees the rising flames
not even the hands that rolled the tyres
the tyres that fueled the flame
not even the fingers that lit the match
all in the blackened smoke
that choked the birds too
Evenvulture fear and desert the air
they now eat leaves like herbivores
To
be continued….